Rainbow Hill

by Alex Carreras

  “Where?”

  Ethan was lost. Completely lost. It was probably due to the lack of blood in his brain. Apparently, another part of his anatomy decided it needed the blood more.

  “Here.” Quinn raised a sun-bleached eyebrow. “We’re going to be roomies?”

  Ethan knew he was blinking like a mental patient in need of some strong meds, but that was all his body could manage at the moment.

  “Son, are you all right?” Tucker leaned in. “You’re looking a little…”

  “Psycho?” Quinn finished, a sly smile sliding over his sexy lips.

  “What the fuck is going on here?”

  “Manners.” Tucker’s voice was stern.

  “Manners my ass,” he shot at Tucker. “For the last time, would you please tell me what’s going on here?”

  “What’s going on is the Kincades have lost their farm, and I thought that the neighborly thing to do was to invite them to live here.”

  “W-w-what?” Ethan sputtered. “Have you finally gone soft in the head?” Ethan jerked out of the chair to pace across the linoleum floor. “You can’t just ask anyone to move into this house?”

  “Why not?” Tucker inclined his chin, eyeing Ethan. “It’s my house, and I can do whatever the heck I want.”

  “What would Mom say about this?”

  “She would say I was doing the right thing. The Kincades needed my help so I offered.”

  “But why? You don’t need theirs.”

  “How would you know? You’re never around long enough to find out.”

  “Well, do you?” Ethan stopped pacing and waited for an explanation.

  “Ethan, it takes a lot to run a farm. There are crops to plant, animals to tend to, buildings to repair, and that’s just the first hour of every day.”

  “I know all about it,” Ethan began. “I grew up here. And no matter how much I want to forget it, I can’t.” He started pacing again, clenching and unclenching his fists to his side. “I thought you wanted to sell this place?”

  Tucker’s mouth fell open, and his eyes looked north. He took in an audible breath. “How did you come to that conclusion? I don’t remember telling you I wanted to sell the farm.”

  “But I thought when you called it was because you needed my help listing it.”

  “Any fool can make a phone call to a real estate agent, son. I can manage to open a phone book. I’m not that feeble.”

  “Questionable,” Ethan mumbled under his breath.

  “I heard that, and I forgive you.” The look in Tucker’s eyes told a different story.

  Rocking in his boot-clad feet, Quinn tucked his hands into his back pockets. “Ethan, I know this comes as a bit of a surprise—”

  “Bit? You and your father have taken over my room, my house, and you have the balls to say ‘bit’?”

  “We have not overtaken anything.”

  A chill raced along Ethan’s spine, Quinn’s resonating baritone voice unnerving him.

  “Tucker invited us.”

  “Tucker?” Ethan asked.

  “Yes, Tucker,” Tucker seconded. “I figured that since we’re living together we could drop the formalities.”

  Ethan made a derisive noise in the back of his throat. “God forbid if we should be formal.”

  “Glad to see that you agree,” Tucker responded.

  Exhaustion overcoming him, Ethan stopped pacing to lean against the closest kitchen cabinet that was available. He scrubbed at his face with his hands and blew out. “So let me get this straight. Dad, you’re not sick.”

  Tucker nodded. “Correct.”

  “The Kincades have lost their farm and now live here…with you.”

  “Right again.”

  “So what exactly do you need me here for? Quinn appears to have everything under control. And if Mister Kincade—”

  “Frank,” Quinn said.

  “F-F-Frank.” Ethan rolled his eyes. “Since he’s here too, he knows what to do, I mean, being a farmer an all.”

  “I need your expertise,” Tucker said.

  “In what? Scraping cow patties? I left that shit, quite literally, behind when I left this farm.”

  Tucker patted the table and repositioned the neighboring chair with his foot. “Sit down, Ethan. We have to explain a few things.”

  “We?” Ethan groaned.

  Quinn claimed a seat, straddling it, his arms draped across the back. “Please sit down so we can talk this out.”

  He didn’t know if it was that voice, those eyes, or those thighs, but Ethan did what was asked.

  “When my father—”

  “Frank.” Ethan smiled tightly.

  “When my father, Frank, lost my mom, his world collapsed. The love of his life was gone, but the medical bills continued to pile up. He couldn’t cope.” Quinn’s eyes narrowed, and he lowered his head. “When Dad was young, he had a drinking problem, and with Mom’s help, he got sober. My entire life, I never saw him take one sip of alcohol. Since the funeral, he hasn’t stopped. I suspect he believes he doesn’t have anything left to live for.”

  To say that Ethan felt like an asshole was the understatement of the century. “I didn’t know.”

  “Of course not,” Quinn said. “Why would you?”

  Tucker leaned back against his chair. “It’s my mission to give Frank something to look forward to. He needs my help, and I need his.”

  “Are you in financial trouble?” Ethan asked Tucker.

  Tucker began to explain. “There are very few working farms left in the area. Every day more are selling out. Did you see that eyesore of a development outside of town? Cookie-cutter houses with cookie-cutter cars where the Browns’ cornfields used to be. They got too old and tired to continue. One son’s in California being a lawyer, and the other is a big shot at the FBI. They have families of their own to take care of.”

  “Where are the Browns now?”

  “Don’t have a clue? It’s not like our set texts on our smart phones, Ethan. Wherever they are, I’m positive they’re missing here.”

  “And how am I supposed to help, exactly?” Ethan couldn’t help but feel suspicious with Quinn staring a hole right through him.

  “Since we last saw each other, I’ve been busy.” Quinn’s gaze intensified.

  “And when was it we last saw each other?” Ethan knew the answer, but he wondered if Quinn did.

  Quinn stroked his stubble-covered jaw with the backs of his fingers. “I vaguely remember the sounds of a marching band and people cheering. It was cool that night.” A knowing smile spread across his lips. “But it got warmer.”

  Heart lurching, Ethan felt his pants tighten. “Um, yeah. That would be about right,” he said, his voice catching ever so slightly. “I believe we had a good time that night.”

  “Quinn here has a degree in farming,” Tucker said.

  “Agriculture,” Quinn corrected.

  “That, too.”

  Tucker continued. “And we thought we would put his fancy education, mine and Frank’s years of experience, and your,” Tucker paused, brows knitted together, “that thing you do, and turn this place around. Make Oak Hill a destination.”

  “Destination,” Ethan choked out. “For what? To what?”

  “For starters, people like you?” Tucker grinned, Ethan noticed his father’s gold crown usually hidden in the far reaches of his mouth. “And him.” He cocked his head toward Quinn.

  “Gays,” Quinn explained.

  “I know what he meant,” Ethan clarified, “but the last I heard, you were batting for the other team.”

  The slightest hint of a blush colored Quinn’s cheeks. “Not anymore.”

  God oh god oh god!

  “You can turn it off and on that easily?” Ethan said.

  “This little get-together isn’t about my homosexuality.”

  “Shouldn’t that be bisexuality since you were married once?” Ethan asked. For some reason, he was taking intense pleasure in turning the proverbial knife in Quinn’
s muscular back. He deserved it for marrying a woman when he was gay.

  “May I continue?” Quinn said through gritted teeth.

  “By all means, please do.”

  “Our fathers, and myself, believe we should join together and get this farm to maximum working capacity. Maximize crop rotation, better housing for the herd, attempt more modern ways of farming.

  “Okay,” Ethan said, his words measured, “but where does the destination plan for gays and urbanites out for a country weekend come into effect? These people don’t care about milking cows and crop rotation.”

  “What do they care about when heading for the country?” Quinn challenged.

  Ethan shrugged, thinking over the question. “Pretty scenery.”

  Tucker threw up his hands. “We got views that’ll make you want to climb to the nearest hill and sing out like that women in that movie you always forced me to watch when you were a kid.”

  Ignoring his father, Ethan pressed on. “Organic food. Jams and jellies in pretty packaging. Fresh baked goods that look like they were made in your grandmother’s kitchen, and not in some industrial lockup. Crafts by local artisans…Maybe even furniture or paintings.”

  “Now you’re getting the idea, son.”

  Ethan stood and walked the length of the floor. “But we can’t do that here.”

  “Why not?” Tucker asked.

  Ethan didn’t have an answer.

  “Look,” Quinn said, standing so that Ethan noticed the snug fit of Quinn’s T-shirt. “Granted, my dad and your dad might not know much about those types of things, but we do, especially you. We plan on repairing some of the outbuildings so we can use them for retail space. With some whimsical paint choices and creative marketing, I think we can pull this together.” Quinn stopped directly in front of Ethan, the smell of freshly cut hay and Irish Spring soap attacking his senses. “Are you on board with this?”

  “Please say you are,” Tucker said, his soulful gaze tearing away Ethan’s resistance. “We can’t do it without you. Your mother always said this was your special gift.”

  “Arranging jars on a shelf is my special gift?”

  “Making things beautiful,” Tucker clarified, smiling.

  Ethan didn’t know if the tears that were threatening to spill were because his father needed him after all those years of believing that he didn’t, or if they were tears of sheer stupidity because he planned to say—

  “Yes,” Ethan replied, looking at Tucker. “But it’s a joint effort.” He redirected his gaze to Quinn. “You have to help. No taking off planting and rotating things when I need you to erect a retail space or contract workers and artists. This is a job shared by everyone. Understood?” He stuck out his hand, waiting for a shake to seal the deal.

  Swatting away Ethan’s hand, Quinn enveloped Ethan in a bear hug, hooting like it was ten seconds into the New Year. Ethan allowed his usually tense muscles to melt into Quinn’s mind-altering embrace. For only a moment, he half expected to relive the heat of that kiss he’d never forgotten, but with his father cheering by his side and slapping their backs in approval, he realized that it wouldn’t be.

  Pulling back with a playful shake, Quinn said, “You won’t regret this. We’ll make it work.” Quinn pulled him in again, hugging tighter. “And thanks for giving my dad a fighting chance,” he whispered into Ethan’s ear.

  Chapter Three

  Filled with optimism, Quinn took the stairs two at a time. It was something he hadn’t felt in a long time. Taking the last step onto the threshold, he regained his composure as he prepared to break the good news to his dad. He breathed deeply, mustering the courage for what he would find behind the closed door. Purposely stomping across the hard wood floor, he loudly cleared his throat and knocked on his father’s bedroom door.

  “You up yet?” he asked through the closed door. “It’s getting late. Come down and get something to eat.”

  On hearing a few muffled, undecipherable words, Quinn opened the door, the brass knob cool in his hand. “You okay, Dad?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  Frank Kincade’s voice sounded like he’d spent the better part of his life drinking whiskey late into the night, something Quinn suspected he had been doing a lot of lately. He inched in, the scent of stale sweat and beer floated in the gloom. Quinn saw his father sitting on the side of the bed, fully dressed except for his lace-up work boots that were on the floor on the other side of the room. Quinn walked to the window and jerked up the shade to allow light to spill into the room.

  “Damn it’s stuffy in here,” he said, deciding to open the window. “It’s a beauty out. Let’s let some air in.” His gaze dropped to the bedside table, a silver picture frame covered in a fine layer of dust catching Quinn’s attention—a gift from his mother’s great aunt, he remembered. The young couple on their wedding day smiled back at Quinn, their glistening eyes full of anticipation.

  Frank scrubbed his hand over his face, exhaling. “Those damn birds won’t let me sleep. How can creatures so small make all that racket?”

  “They’re letting you know that you shouldn’t be sleeping.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that, son,” Frank murmured under his breath, now steadying against the edge of mattress with both hands. He lifted his chin, his brown eyes verging on soullessness. “Why don’t you get me a drink?” His smile was thin.

  “I think you’ve had enough.”

  The smile dropped. “Of water.” He eyed a glass smudged with fingerprints sitting beside the framed wedding photo.

  “Of course,” Quinn answered, feeling ashamed. He moved for the glass.

  “You know I’m trying really hard.”

  “I know you are.” Quinn took the glass and filled it from the bathroom sink, allowing the water from the tap to run cold first. He gazed around the small room. It was surprisingly orderly compared to the bedroom.

  When handing the glass to Frank, Quinn noticed his father’s hand tremble. “Got it?” he asked, refusing to let go until he was sure Frank had a firm grasp.

  Frank nodded, licking his lips. He drank like a man with a great thirst.

  “Ethan’s downstairs. He only just arrived.” Quinn folded over his father’s shirt collar, pressing it flat with his fingertips while Frank drained the glass.

  “Does he still have that funny hair color?”

  “That was a long time ago. We were in high school.”

  Frank’s chuckle turned into a phlegmy, rumbling cough. “No one should ever have that color of hair,” he managed. “It looked like dried out straw. Miracle the herd didn’t try to munch it off him.”

  “I believe it was supposed to be platinum blond.”

  “Whatever color you call it, it was pretty damn awful. Scared the living hell out of me when I saw him walking down Main Street that day. Almost caused me to run a red light, the glare off his head was that bad.”

  Quinn laughed along with Frank. “It was pretty bad, but let’s not bring it up. He just got caught up with our plan.”

  “Your plan. Tucker’s plan,” Frank clarified. “Not mine.” Taking the final sip, Frank replaced the glass on the table. “If you ask me, you two are dreaming. Who’s gonna drive all the way out here to buy some fancy jelly when they could go down the block to the grocery? Stupid people, that’s who. Do you want to be invaded by stupid people? I surely don’t.”

  “They’re not stupid people, they are people enjoying themselves, enjoying life. And there’s no harm in us making some money off those people so we can enjoy life too.”

  “Enjoy life,” Frank scoffed. “Life’s not about enjoying, it’s about working yourself to the point where your limbs can no longer move and then you die.”

  “That’s a joyous perspective.” Quinn clapped his hands in the hopes of motivating his father to stand and snap out of his morose mood. “Now get up and get yourself downstairs. Tucker’s made stew, and if you don’t want that there’s always eggs but we have work to do. I need help cutting
grass out at the backfield, and we’re falling behind. Sun’s shining, and it’s time to make hay. Literally.”

  “I heard you, so stop talking so loudly,” Frank stood with some effort. “And if you ever clap again in my presence, I’m going to clap you upside the head.”

  Although it sounded as if Frank was joking, Quinn didn’t want to find out if he was or wasn’t. He shoved his hands firmly into his back jeans pockets. “Trying to get you moving, that’s all.”

  “I’m not a cow, son.”

  “Won’t do it again.”

  Frank ran his hand over his thinning hair, combing it into place. “Do you really believe that this cockamamie plan of yours is going to work? I’m not trying to rain on your parade, but I’m a farmer, always have been. I don’t know anything about city people in fancy cars who apparently have too much money. I was born in Frederick County, and unlike you and Ethan, I’ve lived here all my life.”

  “We need your expertise to make this work. You know every facet of farming.”

  “So do you, and so does, Tucker.”

  “True but I’m going to be busy with Ethan, and Tucker needs your help. He’s not as young as he used to be and could use the help around here.”

  “Watch it with that old stuff. I’m only a few months shy of Tucker’s birthday.”

  “You know what I mean. Excuse me if I was disrespectful.”

  Frank placed a hand on Quinn’s shoulder and squeezed. “You couldn’t be disrespectful if you tried, Quinn. You’re exactly like your mother. Loving…and hardheaded.”

  Quinn smiled. “That’s perfect coming from you. But I suspect I get that trait from you, not from Mom.”

  “Whoever said time heals all wounds is an asshole. The more that time passes, the sadder I become.” He dropped his hold on Quinn. “I keep praying for the pain to dull, praying that the drink will help it along, but it doesn’t”

  “Then you should stop drinking.” Quinn tried not to beg. “No point if it doesn’t do what you want it to do.”

  Frank’s gaze was fixed on the floorboards, and he remained silent.

  “C’mon,” Quinn said, nudging Frank, “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”